Yes, Dear RR. That was the very first post to this wonderful living thread! And it is dated the 5th of May, 03.

One thing of note...the addendum to the post written by Mr. Joe Offer. Joe has denied ever posting to Mother. I reminded him of this and he says he has no memory of it, and due to the crash, the posts are not in order, so one must look hard to find the original post (or, open the thread and hit "printer friendly"; this puts them in proper order!)

I really must have lost my mind-That poem from me was in '04 I think. Damn nothing is for sure anymore! I might need a whiskey about now! Tell me if I'm wrong on this one King.......Was this the 1st post to this here Mother of a thread?

Another brainstorm of mine, inspired by Tweed, Spaw, Carol the Sailor and their ilk.

We can save time which we spend searching through all the BS threads very easily. Henceforth, post all BS here in this thread. Soon there will be only one BS thread. We won't have to look for particular threads as this will be the only one and it will contain all the BS we have to offer.

My Gawd!! Why has this not been thought of earlier? It is so obvious!

I swear, sometimes I even amaze myself!

Once again, for those of you who are slow in understanding...hear me, Tweed! Post all BS in this thread from now on!

Pene Azul and Joe Offer will thank me for making their job so much easier! My fellow 'Catters will also thank me when they realize the time my idea will save them! Maybe this will finally get me the coveted "Time/Life Man of the Year"!!

Now that you mention it King Kandu, I thought her birthday was yesterday. I spaced it out. Are you sure it wasn't yesterday? I think so, and now that I'm back in here. I found something awhile back celebrating her year and a day, because I missed Mother's first Birthday...It went like this,

Happy Day Late oh Mother May 6, '02 To honor MOAB on her one year and a day jubilee 3000 Playmate Paul Doll balloons with erectile penises I set free. With bleary eyes, I blinked back a tear Remembering the joy and bullshit of the past year. I missed the party that was or was not held, but,3000 Playmate Paul Doll balloons with erectile penises swelled ....with helium. I rose a glass of whiskey, and watched them disappear to the north, west, east and south. And to my final contentment, I poured the whiskey in my mouth.

Can't help but notice I'v gone with the blow-up dolls in my last poem on MOAB'S 4year and a day birthday also. What is "Up" with that??

It was once again, a mission uncompleted,the rings I could not find, North Dakotans are trickier than I thought, their trying to blow my mind.Who would even give it a thought,It seems such a simple thing,to find 10 rings that un-decoded the mysteries Of teaching Margaret Thatcher blow up dolls how to sing!

Amos your last poem was Marvellous! Not because you mentioned myself, mind you. It was so flowing, so natural, so full of emotion and titilating. LOved it!

Why in the WORLD hasn't the EPA been informed of all this? Is that what I pay taxes for? And ignorance of the law has never been an excuse, whether you can read or not! I say, Let's deport all of these litter louts! Send 'em back where they came from, that's what I say!

There's a loophole in the anti-litter laws, is why. Bulldogs can't read and so are exempt. So they have the litters. The humans are just "picking up after 'em", i swhat they claim. You might be able to get them for transporting the litter across state lines, though.

Can you ship your puppies and do you ship them year round? From September til May each year we are able to fly our puppies into all of the major airports in the lower 48 states and in addition some of the minor airports. Most often, our flights can be scheduled any day of the week ~ however, there are times that weather or unusual circumstances we aren't able to control that can delay or cancel a flight and then we are forced to postpone the delivery until the next possible day. During the summer months, it becomes much more challenging to safely ship puppies because of Bulldogs low tolerance to heat. Therefore, for their well being we are limited to the areas of the country we can ship to and often post an available cities list during those months that we can ship our puppies to if we have summertime litters born.

Send me a bullldogge Send it by air! Send it by Dellta! We know they care. Send it in spring time, Send it in fall, But during summer, Don't ship at all.

Rapaire is going to go take a shower and change into work clothes. At 0730 Rapaire is heading North to help move seven (7) servers to his library. Rapaire may not be posting much until this evening -- with luck.

'Tis the flowers of the plain And I see them yet again As the lightning and the rain Courses down my window pane:

I think, my dear, of you And of what we used to do: When I got poop upon my shoe And you'd point and say, "Do-do!"

Now I miss your subtle ways, And your pure steel corset stays. They stopped us from becoming strays In our lustful, youthful, days.

BB will be busy transplanting these for minutes to come once he discovers more "mudcat poetry" over here. sIx dropped in after he (she?) started a copycat thread--seems it would have been easier to lurk and work his way in slowly. MOM would let him in.

Hey--I was driving home tonight and near the house stopped to say hello to a fellow out waking a beautiful brindled pit bull male--and realized he was the man who was driving the other day and asked about papers or breeding my dog Cinnamon! All became clear! He walks his dog, he loves his beautiful sweet-tempered pooch, he's not a breeder or anything shady, and he saw my beautiful sweet tempered dog and had an "ah ha!" moment. What a compliment! Still I wouldn't have been interested in puppies, but it is nice to know what that look of disappointment was about when we spoke the other day on the bridge. It wasn't disapproval at taking any pitbull out of genetic circulation, but a touch of sadness at taking a particularly nice dog out of the puppy possibilities. I can understand that, and felt a twinge of remorse that my sweet dog wouldn't have more sweet puppies like herself for others to enjoy.

Now back to Rapaire's regular ball bashing, poetical swilling and general mayhem with sharp objects.

No, Six, it isa much more than this. Go back to page 1 and read forward. All will become clear.

Oh Rustical Rebel, O, Rebel my dear, Your wit is so deep, and your eyes are so clear, Your arms and your fingers are pure, I confess, But the mind also lingers upon all the rest. So random and wild are the spins we are in, When you drift amongst us, your MOABITE kin, That the end can't be figgered From where it begins, In the shadowy tendrils of bullshit.

Oh, BW, BW, BWL, Whose humor and insight goes too far to tell, From the Florida sky to his downy deep vale, Where his clay pots lie patiently drying their tails, So wicked the flashing of lightning like wit, As he toils in the earth, and the storm, and the pit, Midst the shadowy tendrils of bullshit!

Rapaire in the Northland, where the egos grow tall, Where space is wide open, and nothing looks small, Where a man is as big as the blue sky he smells, And as sturdy and tall as the bullshit he tells, He's winsome and lithe, And much more than alive, In the flowering tendrils of bullshit!

And Steady-On Stilly, of well-lettered zest, Transplanted to Texas from the wooly Northwest, With marvelous treasure hidden deep in her mind, Which leave all her fellows at MOAB stone blind So clear and unscarred, With her dogs, in her yard, Midst the delicate tendrils of bullshit!

There's dozens of others whose names I could name Who have conquered the MOAB, who well deserve fame But I don't have forever, and they know who they are, Each fellow a poet, and each lass a star As we follow this spiralling back-slapping trail, Where no-one can falter, and no-one can fail Midst the perilous tendrils of bullshit!

Agonistes Perihelion III, Advocate-General of the Public WealPeon Paeans and Those Who Write Them Byronme and Pisceonyu, Long Beach, California, 1897

So how high do your balls bounce Rapaire? And when you drop them from forehead height does it....Oh forget that..I don't even want to really know!

The MOTHER Got Balls by Gettemwhile Yewcan.

So what's up folks? I stay away for a week and you forget about me? My name doesn't rhyme with anything or what? Gee-whiz and golly snickit. I notice even the Rev. Billy Ray or what ever he called himself, left Bee-dubya and me out of his redeeming rehabilitation quest to purify the MOAB. We must be the puritans around here! Yes that's it!

Rustically Rebel and Bee-Dubya-ellThey are pure and won't go to hell!They like to bullshit and some tales they do tellDamn those two, sure are swell...ed!

Yours true-Rustically Rebelish PS-If anyone was wondering-I am not the Rev. Ray- I do have some dignity!PS again- I'm once again heading to Fargo in the morn-My quest for the rings continues without falter.

ALL: There's no BS like MOAB BS Try it, you'll know it's so Folks from everywhere are coming posting Standing out in front of all their friends Smiling as you watch dear MOAB filling And see the postings that never end!

There's no people like MOAB people They'll laugh at you because like them you're low Because you are a turkey and your wit is old They'll kick you out and leave out in the cold Still you wouldn't trade 'em for a sack o' gold Let's go on with MOAB! Let's go on with MOAB! The MOAB! The MOAB!

Do your ears hang low? Do they wobble to and fro? Can you tie them in a knot? Can you tie them in a bow? Can you toss them o'er your shoulder like a continental soldier? Do your ears hang low?

As is noted on one site I went to to double check other verses: "A considerably sanitized song that, in its original form, described less polite but more recognizably pendulous body parts. Tune: any one of Turkey In the Straw, the Sailor's Hornpipe, or the Parade of the Wooden Soldiers."

Here is a site with the other verses (and accuses Oscar Brand of bowdlerizing the song. . . )

I don't want to post too much of this here or one of the clones might mistake this for a music thread and move MOM above the line.

The thing you have to do is test your balls first to see if they are still in good enough shape to be marketable...

Place your balls on a solid surface such as an oak table and deliver a good whack to each with a rubber hammer. The resilience of your balls under severe impact will establish if they still have what it takes to meet official playing standards.

When I owned a blue Volkswagen (a 1967 beetle, the best model year they ever made) I always kept a couple of spare wire coat hangers, almost more useful than duct tape. One served as my arial and the other was handy to reach in through the slightly open window to catch the button and pull and open the car in case the key was deciding not to work that day. I would go hiking and instead of hiding a spare key somewhere near the car I always hid my folded hangar with my pre-hooked end for opening the door. I never had to tie down the trunk or the engine cover, they worked just fine.

Because if I find cast-off soda cans in my yard I chuck 'em back on the golf course. Doesn't happen nearly as often as find balls there.

I am truly annoyed about the trim falling off. I could have been run over (I lost my balance picking it up out of the high-speed lane on the Interstate) and it shouldn't have come off in the first place.

But if you want REAL excitement, I was once breezing down the highway at about 65 when the hood latch let go. Suddenly the entire view out the windshield turned white. It took me a microsecond to realize that I was now looking at the car hood, and I stuck my head out the window and braked, finally pulling off the road without injury to myself or others (I do admit to being a bit shaky). There was some wire in the car, so I wired the hood down to the grill and drove slowly home, where more permanent repairs were arranged.

First time I read that I thought the WINDSHIELD fell off and you duct taped it into place. So I went back and reread. I must say, it is a MUCH more exciting story if the windshield falls out than a bit of trimfalls off.

Why would I target my balls? And which ones? I have one of them hanging by a rope under the deck; I use it for an epee target. Is that what you meant? Would you like to send me one of your balls to use as an epee target? It doesn't have to be a new one -- one that's old and worn out is okay.

I'd like to put them in a vending machine ($1.50 per ball) and put the vending machine on my fence. The 8 year old girl next door is selling lemonade and I hope she'd making a bunch of money.

Friday last I had the windshield in Pat's Element replaced -- it was cracked nearly all the way across. I let it sit all day yesterday, and today I drove it to Idaho Falls (50 miles each way) to get some wicker patio furniture for the new Sun Room we've recreated. I had to leave two chairs and I interded make two trips today. Right -- on the way back the trim fro the driver's side of the windshield fell off. I taped it on (duct tape forever!) and some miles down the Interstate it flew off, causing me to dodge traffic to retrieve it.

Glass company's gonna git a phone call bright and early tomorrow morning! I need this vehicle to move servers from Idaho Falls to down here on Tuesday -- not to mention my chairs (which will not fit into my Civic).

In the past three days I've FOUND four balls in my back yard. Hard, white, and with pitted surfaces. They belonged to people named "Sleznger" (I think), "Titlest 2" (the junior member of the family, I guess), and names like those. I feel badly that these golfers left their balls in my yard, but not badly enough to advise them to seek medical attention.

Lots of golfers leave their balls in my yard. I have three LARGE 44 oz. drink cups full of them. I can only speculate that this is some sort of arcane golf ritual promoting birth control.

There used to be a labrador retriever who would run out on the golf course and retrieve golfer's balls. I thought that was nasty, training a dog to do that. I mean, losing their balls in a golf ritual is one thing, but geez!

You steal the balls from visiting golfer from far, far away. The locals might recognise you if you steal theirs, and organise a march with flaming torches on the Idaho legion HQ, and somebody will do something silly and call the police, who will overreact, and call in the FBI, AFT and NASCAR, and that will only lead to trouble..

Mom, while Rap has been out stealing balls from the local golfers I've been out working on the home turf and putting in a few shrubs. Not enough rain yesterday to soak down more than a couple of inches, but every little bit helps.

MOAB dear! MOAB dear! In far off Idaho I heard your callMOAB dear! MOAB dear!! And here am I to give my all I know in my soul what you expect of me And all that and more I shall be! A MOABite should be quite BSible Succeed where a less fantastic man would fail Climb to the heights no else can climb Cleave a GUEST in record time Post BS tho' he is without e-mail! No matter the pun he ought to be unwinceable Impossible tales should be his daily fare But where in the world Is there in the world A man so extraordinaire?

C'est moi! C'est moi! I'm forced to admit 'Tis I, I humbly reply That mortal who These marvels can do C'est moi, c'est moi, 'tis I I've never lost In battle or game I'm simply the best by far When words are cross'd 'Tis always the same One pun and au revoir! C'est moi! C'est moi! So admir'bly fit A Idahoer of Rabelasian cheer And here I stand with BS untold Exception'lly brave, amazingly bold To serve our MOAB dear!

The soul of a MOABite should be so sparkable Yet my heart and my mind are pure as morning dew With a will and a self-restraint That's the envy of ev'ry saint I could easily work a miracle or two In love and desire I ought to be remarkable Tho' ways of the flesh doth offer no allure But where in the world Is there in the world A man so untouch'd and pure?

I've never stray'd from all I believe I'm bless'd with an iron gut Had I been made the partner of Eve We'd all be in still in rut! C'est moi! C'est moi The angels have chose to post their postings below And here I stand as pure as a pray'r Incredibly clean, with virtue to spare The MOABitest man I know! C'est moi!

If you cannot make sense of Rapaire, you can't make sense out of anyone or anything.

Just consider poor Rapaire, sitting alone in his mountain fastness, working to keep the flames of Knowledge, Literacy, Art, yea, even Reason itself! burning brightly for all people everywhere. But what reward does he reap? Only to be scorned, insulted, driven from pillar to post, by the minions of the Forces of Ignorance, Gluttony, Lust, Pride, Greed, Envy, Famine, Death, Plague, War, and Perineal Pruritus.

None the less, he soldiers on, his Duty clear, his Sword of Enlightenment blazing white-hot against the encroaching Darkness. And for what? Only a pittance, a moldy crust and a flagon of stagnant water on even-numbered days, and then he must endure the slights of those who should be supporting poor Rapaire's work.

Well, Mom, I see you're having a dizzy spell. I suppose you've been listening to that Rapaire again, and trying to make sense of it, huh? I know, I know....it is tempting, I understand, but Mom, if you indulge him, he'll just do it more!!

Our neighborhood received a nice rain, half-inch to an inch, so I'm going to go work in the garden this morning. I went to bed with the weather radio nearby and a full set of clothes and shoes on the foot of the bed in case I had to exit in a hurry. A purist in bad weather probably would have gone to bed wearing those clothes, but I find it uncomfortable to sleep with my keys in my pants pocket.

It's beginning to rumble out there now, but it might be a car up the street. I'm going to work outside for a little while (it has been drizzling, then sunshining, then drizzling again, a nice morning that makes the neighborhood, with all of its tender spring leaves and green lawns look like someplace OTHER than a place that will be as hot as hell and turn brown if we have another drought this year).

Say, MOM, a guy stopped me on my walk with the dogs yesterday and asked if I had papers for the pitbull, like maybe I'd like to breed my dog. I'm glad she is so beautiful he'd think such a thing, but I told him she had been a stray and I'd had her spayed. He clearly was sorry to hear that, but MOM, the prospect of this sweetheart having puppies would mean I'd fall in love with all of them and have a yard FULL of dogs! I couldn't give them away or sell them. And considering the price for keeping a dog (for me) was to have one spayed, I think was worth it, because if I'd turned her over to the dog pound folks injured as she was, they'd have euthanized her. Anyway, two is plenty (and Poppy noticed he didn't ask about breeding her, but she's an airhead Catahoula, and forgot the slight about 17 seconds later).

Hmmm...no word from DEep In The Heart Of. Guess she blew away. Hope the dogs are okay.

Uncle Caleb started out as a lancer on a whaling vessel. Being a tad nearsighted (and too proud to wear specs) his boat had to get really, really close before Unky made his throw. In fact, before he'd throw the crew would paint "This dead whale is the property of the whaling ship 'Buttercup'out of the port of New Bedford" on the side of the whale. Then Unky would make his throw and miss. The crew would back-paddle so fast that they burned the paint off the stern of their whaleboat and Unky would turn around and asked where the whale went.

His navigation stunk, too, but he was hell on wheels as a scrimshander (I think that's the first time that word has been used in MOAB).

I really don't know how the old man mannatee threatened Unky. I guess I always assumed it was with a shotgun or some other traditional way.

Just had a look on the Net, Stilly. Yeah, there seems to be bad weather all around your area of Texas, and a tornado warning just east of Fort Worth. Well, ride it out and we'll check in tomorrow and see how you made out.

My father was the keeper of the Eddystone Light And he slept with a mermaid one fine night. From this union there came three, Two little fishes and the third was me.

(or "A porpoise and a porgy and the third was me.")

Tornado siren went off a few minutes ago, and upon checking the weather, I think it might be a rough one here in North Texas. For those who follow such things, I'm on the south side of Fort Worth. If you look at the maps there is a circle around the city that is Interstate Loop 820. I'm about three blocks south of that and about a half mile west of I-35 (that intersects 820 just north and east of me), in case you're reading the radar. I'll set up a room if I have to bring in the dogs (that is a last resort!) and may have to sleep in the hallway. I have a futon pad I can pull in there and be comfortable (as long as the cats don't sleep right on top of me).